Carrie’s entry below reminded me of a song I hadn’t heard in years, Patti Smith’s “Dancing Barefoot” (not the dreaded U2 version - I’ll spare you the bore of my picky brand of feminism by not itemizing the 50 reasons it is so wrong for a man to sing that song). I always loved this bit from the end:
the plot of our life sweats in the dark like a face
the mystery of childbirth, of childhood itself
grave visitations
what is it that calls to us?
why must we pray screaming?
why must not death be redefined?
we shut our eyes we stretch out our arms
and whirl on a pane of glass
an afixiation, a fix on anything
the line of life, the limb of a tree
the hands of he and the promise that she is blessed among women.
I lost the old vinyl version of Wave years ago in a move. It’s time to go buy the CD, methinks.
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